


Not Quitters

by CelesteFitzgerald



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Gen, Weight Gain, some lennison and mcstarr if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:21:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23137594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelesteFitzgerald/pseuds/CelesteFitzgerald
Summary: On one unfortunate day, the Beatles' refrigerator breaks. Do they get it fixed? Do they buy a new one?Of course not. They just eat everything.
Comments: 15
Kudos: 30





	Not Quitters

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhhhh, I started this fic _months_ ago and finally finished it up! Thanks to TheFlabbyFoursome for giving me the little extra bit of encouragement to finish writing this, and for writing weight gain fics in the first place. I never even knew this type of stuff existed before I read your fics. 
> 
> This fic is a bit more of a subtle, realistic (maybe?) approach to weight gain because realism is my jam, but hopefully it's still enjoyable to read!!

“Oh no,” Ringo said as he opened up the fridge.

“What’s wrong?” Paul asked as George and John looked up from the couch.

“Boys, I think our refrigerator is broken,” Ringo said.

“ _What?_ ” George said, rushing into the kitchen to take a look for himself. He opened the door and immediately noticed that the light inside didn’t turn on. To make sure it wasn’t just an issue with the bulb, he stuck his hand in to feel around.

“Damn,” George said after he checked the freezer as well. “I think you’re right.”

“Then what the fuck are we supposed to do?” John asked. “We don’t have time to go out and buy a new one yet, and all our food’s gonna go bad.”

“Then I guess we have to just use up what we can now, and throw out the rest?” Paul suggested. “Or give food out to other people.”

“No way,” George said, shaking his head. “We paid good money for that food—I’m not letting it go to waste.”

“What are you gonna do?” Ringo asked. “Eat it all yourself?”

“Or die trying,” George said, grabbing two containers of leftovers and throwing them down on the table. The other three just chuckled as George grabbed a fork and sat down. “If you really think it’s so impossible, you could help me out,” George said, digging into the leftover spaghetti from two days ago.

After a moment of silence, John shrugged. “What the hell—it’s almost dinner time, anyway.” He opened up the other container George had taken out and started eating the rice. It wasn’t long before Paul and Ringo were digging in, too.

Half an hour later, they were starting to feel the effects of the food. “God, I haven’t been this full in months,” Paul said, leaning back in his chair.

“Me either,” Ringo said while John nodded in agreement.

“You’re not giving up already, are you?” George said, taking another bite.

“How the hell aren’t you feeling this, George?” John asked.

George shrugged and undid his belt, throwing it to the floor. “’Cause I’m not a quitter,” he said plainly. “And we haven’t even started on the freezer yet.”

“You’re bloody insane,” John muttered.

“Calm down,” George said, “there’s not even that much in our freezer.” He was about to walk over to the freezer to prove it to John, but as soon as he stood up, the contents of his stomach shifted around and made him grab onto the table for stability. “Ooh,” George said, taking a few seconds to let his stomach settle down before slowly shuffling to the freezer.

“See?” George said once he had the freezer open. “It’s not that much. Most of this is ice, and there’s a bag of frozen vegetables—ooh, a pumpkin pie!”

That caught the others’ attention. They looked at the pie with eager eyes as George set it on the table.

“…Damn it, I want that pie,” John muttered.

“We’re gonna have gained a hundred pounds by the end of today,” Paul sighed.

“Then let’s just balance it out with those vegetables to make it healthier,” George said, returning to the freezer to grab them.

Before long, the pie was in the oven, and the vegetables were on the stove, along with the half-dozen eggs that were still in the fridge. While they waited for everything to cook—with Paul keeping an eye on the stove—the others worked on finishing the last of the food from the fridge.

“This is amazing,” Ringo mumbled through a mouthful of the cheese slices he was shoveling into his mouth. “Why do we always put cheese on crackers or sandwiches to eat it? It’s even better by itself.”

“I thought you said you were full,” George said, stealing a slice of cheese for himself.

“I _was_ full—then I saw that we had cheese. Besides, John’s the one who’s really having trouble,” Ringo said, pointing to John’s corner of the table where the man in question was hunched forward with his cheek resting on the table.

“Alright, John?” George asked.

John only groaned in response.

“You can’t stop now—what about the pie?”

“The pie will kill me,” John said. “I won’t make it.”

“You’ll be fine,” George said, scooting toward John. “You haven’t eaten that much,” George began, but when he glanced down to look at John’s stomach, what he saw said otherwise. From just this one meal, John’s stomach was straining against his shirt, and a few of the buttons looked as though they were about to pop.

“Damn,” George whispered. “Does it hurt?”

John whined again.

Setting down the food in his hand, George leaned closer to John and rested a hand on John’s stomach—

“The fuck are you doing?” John asked sharply—but he didn’t lift his head from the table.

“Trying to help,” George said, beginning to rub his hand in small circles.

John immediately stopped protesting and let out a hum as George kept massaging his swollen belly. “That’s nice,” John murmured while his stomach started to soften.

Paul and Ringo shared a look as they watched John and George’s moment. “Should we give you two some privacy?” Ringo teased.

“Sure,” John said, finally lifting his head from the table. “You get out of here so George and I can have the pie all to ourselves.” George eagerly nodded in agreement.

Sighing, Paul turned away from them to look back at the stove. “If that’s what you really want, then you better be really hungry—our vegetables and eggs are ready, and the pie will be done soon,” Paul said. He grabbed a couple large bowls, scooped the food into them, and set them on the table.

“Dear god,” Ringo said, peering into the bowl of scrambled eggs. “I think we may have gone a bit overboard.”

“Speak for yourself,” John said as he poured some eggs onto his plate and started eating.

“Someone sure got his appetite back quickly,” Paul said, but John was too engrossed in eating to respond. “Are you really gonna throw in the towel, Ritchie?” Paul asked, picking up the bowl of vegetables. “There’s some broccoli in here that’s calling your name.”

“I really don’t know if I can,” Ringo said, rubbing his own stomach and shutting his eyes for a moment.

“C’mon now, I didn’t spend all that time cooking just to watch my hard work go to waste,” Paul said.

“It was barely ten minutes,” George said, rolling his eyes, but Paul didn’t hear him.

Paul dumped some veggies onto Ringo’s plate and picked up Ringo’s fork. “Just a little more,” Paul said as he held a forkful of broccoli up to Ringo’s mouth.

Unamused, Ringo frowned at him. But just a few seconds later, he sighed and opened his mouth so Paul could feed him the broccoli. He began chewing and realized that it actually tasted quite good. “That’s not bad,” Ringo said. “Can I have a bit more?”

“You can feed yourself now,” Paul said, trying to return the fork to Ringo.

But Ringo refused. “Too full to move.” He relaxed against the back of his chair, and as he moved, the bottom of his shirt slid upward and exposed a few centimeters of his stomach, which was now looking as bloated as John’s. “Don’t keep me waiting,” Ringo said, opening his mouth wide.

Paul only hesitated for a couple seconds before scooping up more vegetables and feeding them to Ringo. He made sure to feed himself too in between Ringo’s bites—with his own fork, of course. Ringo would never let him live it down if Paul contaminated his fork with germs.

George and John were making quick work of the food, too. John leaned against George’s shoulder as he ate, but the extra pressure from John didn’t deter George at all. Forkful after forkful of vegetables disappeared into George’s mouth so quickly that his cheeks were constantly puffed up from all the food inside. Although, their puffy appearance almost looked like it lasted even after he swallowed—he _had_ eaten an awful lot, after all.

By the time they cleaned out the food from the bowls, the smell of the pumpkin pie filled the kitchen. “Is it ready yet?” George asked, staring longingly at the oven.

Paul raised his fist to his mouth as he tried to hold back a burp. “In a couple minutes.”

“So close,” John moaned as he massaged his own belly—George was too full to reach over and do it for him.

“Do you really think we can do it?” Ringo asked.

“We didn’t come this far just to quit,” George said. “We’re gonna finish this pie if it’s the last thing we do.”

Ringo groaned and slid down further in his chair, resting his hands on top of his expanded stomach. “It _might_ be the last thing we do, at this rate.”

“Still worth it,” George said.

Despite George’s optimism, they ran into a problem when the pie was fully baked—they weren’t sure if they could get out of their chairs in their current states. “Someone’s gotta go get the pie,” Paul said.

“Yeah, Paul—go get it,” Ringo said, his face now barely visible behind his bloated stomach with how far he had slid down in his chair.

“Why me?”

“You’re the closest.”

“But I already stood up to cook everything on the stove.”

“Then you can do it again.”

“ _Argh!_ ” John’s cry interrupted Paul and Ringo’s bickering, and they all turned to look as John took a deep breath and heaved himself to his feet. They watched in shock as John managed to wobble his way over to the oven, muttering under his breath “do it for the pie” the whole way there. When John carried the pie back to the table and began slicing it, they gave him the loudest cheers they could muster.

“Let’s eat, boys,” John said as he placed a fourth of the pie onto each of their plates. Three out of the four of them leaned over the table to dig in—Ringo placed his plate on his stomach and ate it from there. The pressure inside their stomachs was overwhelming, but their mouths kept watering with every whiff they caught of the scent, and the pleasure far outweighed the discomfort each time they ate another bite.

John was the first to finish, followed by George and Ringo. When Paul finally swallowed his last bite, they all sighed in relief. “I can’t believe you really convinced us to do this, George,” Paul said, not even bothering to hold back his burp this time.

“Told you we could do it,” George said as John returned the favor and rubbed George’s full belly.

“Actually, George,” Ringo said, “didn’t you first try to tell us that you could eat all this on your own? You got off easy with all of us helpin’ you out.”

George frowned. “You still don’t believe I could do it, do you?”

“Nope.”

“Fine,” George pouted. “Next time the refrigerator breaks, I’ll eat everything on my own.”

“Fine. But if you fail, you’ve gotta treat us all to the biggest, most expensive meal at the fanciest place in town,” Ringo said.

“Deal.”

“Next time…?” Paul muttered to himself, some pieces clicking together in his head. “How the hell will there be a next time? We’ve eaten all our food, and we’re too stuffed to move—how’re we gonna make it to the store to buy more food for the rest of the week?”

At Paul’s realization, they stared at each other in silence. Why hadn’t they considered the consequences of their actions?

Then, a minute later, John’s face lit up. He hoisted himself to his feet once more.

“Where’re you off to?” Paul asked.

“The phone—gotta call Brian,” John said with a smirk. “He’s got a _hell_ of a lot of shopping to do.”


End file.
